Impossibly Forever: Two Books in One (Impossibly Duology) (19 page)

  
“Hello, Moya. Nice seeing you again.” She was as posh as ever, in a knitted,
burgundy sweater dress, black leggings and flats, with matching pearl earrings
and necklace. Her shiny blonde hair styled into a bob.

  
“Hi, Mrs. McCarthy.
It’s nice seeing you too,” I
replied, entering the house.

  
She took my coat and led me into the living room to chat briefly. Every
encounter was used to learn all she could about my home life and studies.

  
Branden sat down in the middle of the cream fabric, sectional sofa, while his
mother and I lounged on the smaller one across from him. Mr. McCarthy appeared
soon after with wine glasses and an expensive looking bottle.

  
“Getting everyone ready for New Year’s Eve,” he joked, pouring us sparkling
wine. “It’s non-alcoholic, of course.”

  
Mrs. McCarthy flashed him a ‘shut the hell up’ glare as he handed her a glass.
His smile slightly evaporated. After offering me a glass as well, he walked
over and sat down in the chair next to the sofa where Branden was sitting.

  
“So, Moya, Finance was it?” he confirmed.

  
“Yes.” I sipped some wine.

  
“You know, if you’re ever looking for an internship, I’d be happy to put in
word for you at Neilman & Co. We’re always looking for new blood.”

  
“Sure you are,” Mrs. McCarthy chided. Branden’s brows shot up. He glanced in
between his parents, confused. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Mrs.
McCarthy was irritated by her husband this evening.

  
“Anyway,” she brought her attention back to me. “I’m sure you have your eyes
set on much bigger companies, Moya. You’re a smart girl, and smart girls don’t
settle. They aspire for greatness.” Her blue eyes glistened with every word.
She was like a mentor, looking for the next young mind to influence.

  
“Thank you,” was all I could mutter.

  
“Why don’t we head into the dining room?” Mr. McCarthy stood up from the chair.
His body language depicted hurt, humiliation. It was the first time I’d seen
the couple so on edge with each other. Was there something going on? The look
on Branden’s face told me he was just as baffled as I was.

  
Mrs. McCarthy fixed her cardigan and strutted ahead of me. I lingered behind
with Branden.

  
“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “Don’t know what’s up with them.”

  
I shrugged and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay.”

  
Entering the dining room, I was in awe at how wonderfully arranged the espresso
table was. It looked like Thanksgiving all over again.

  
“This is great, Mrs. McCarthy,” I praised, taking a seat next to Branden. “The
table looks lovely.”

  
Mr. McCarthy stifled a laugh as he sat down at the end of the table. I didn’t
get the joke until his wife explained, “Thank you, dear, but I can’t take
credit for this. Our new cook, Luciana, is the one who prepares meals for us
now. You can thank my husband for that.” She looked down at Mr. McCarthy, her
gaze sharp and lethal. He ignored her.

  
Branden chipped in, “It’s still a nice setting.”

  
“Indeed,” his father added.

  
Trying to dissolve the tense atmosphere, I asked, “Where’s Ashton?”

  
Mrs. McCarthy answered, “He’s out fooling around. I’m
afraid
family gatherings just don’t fit into Ashton’s schedule.” I’d made it even
worse it seemed.

  
“I’m sure he had something important to do, Mom,” Branden countered.

  
She didn’t seem to like his defending his older brother. Glancing at her
husband, she said dryly, “Pass the salad, dear.”

  
This was surely an interesting event. I was beginning to feel like I’d walked
into the aftermath of a battlefield.

  
Dinner went on with dry conversation and cold stares between husband and wife.
It made me uncomfortable. I was relieved when it finally ended, and beyond
ready to leave so that I could spend time with Branden.

  
Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy walked us to the front door. Putting on my coat, I
thanked them once more for having me over.

  
“It was nice seeing you both again.”

  
“Likewise,” Mr. McCarthy said. “Branden’s lucky to have a nice girl like you.”

  
“I am,” he admitted, but I was stuck on the dreadful way Mrs. McCarthy watched
her husband at the corner of her eye when he complimented me. Was she jealous?

  
“I’ll be back in a bit.” Branden opened the front door and stepped outside,
hauling me along.

  
“Bye, Moya,” Mrs. McCarthy finally said.

  
I smiled politely and walked outside, eager to get out of that atmosphere.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Branden

  
Life had to be messing with me
; because I was almost convinced my
parents were starting to work on their marriage. Tonight’s uncomfortable
tension proved otherwise. What the hell happened? They seemed fine earlier
before I left to go pick up Moya. I could only imagine what was running through
her mind now.

  
She seemed awfully quiet, staring out the windshield at the dark, still water.
I’d driven out to the docks so we could talk a bit before I brought her home.
And maybe break it to her easy that I wanted to start playing hockey again next
semester.

  
“What’s up?” I asked, turning off the engine.

  
Startled, Moya spun her head fast and stared at me with doe eyes. “Nothing,”
she breathed. “Just thinking how peaceful it is out here. I never used to
appreciate stuff like this, you know? My life used to be all about working hard
to be successful and making my momma proud. I never used to take the time to
enjoy anything, not even my accomplishments so far.”

  
I stroked her soft cheek. She covered my hand. “I’m glad I gave you a chance,
and I’m sorry I made it so hard.”

  
“Yeah, you got that right,” I joked.

  
Moya sucked her teeth and punched me playfully on the arm. “I told you, it’s
not easy for me to trust someone.”

  
“I know. I’m happy you trust me now, because I most certainly trust you.”

  
Her face turned serious all of a sudden. She began to stare at the dashboard,
her mind drifting away.

  
I guided her chin back to me.

  
“Give your dad a call,” I suggested, thinking that might be the reason for her
troubled expression.

  
She feigned a smile. “I thought you said not to force it.”

  
“Yeah, but it’s obvious you want to, you’re just being your usual stubborn
self.”

  
Pursing her lips, Moya cocked her head to the side and said in a stern tone,
“I’m not being stubborn.”

  
“Right.”

  
“I’m not,” she insisted.

  
I brushed the fallen curls from her forehead. “Babe, come on. How long are you
going to do this to yourself?”

  
“Do what?” she sounded agitated now.

  
“Try to be so tough all the time.”

  
“Whatever,” she shook her head. “I wasn’t even thinking about my dad so I don’t
know why you brought up calling him.”

  
I furrowed my forehead, confused.
“Because you seem bothered
by something.”

  
For the first time since the day we had lunch together at the campus café, Moya
started to pick at her fingernails and peered around into space. She seemed to
be considering hard, and adamant about keeping whatever it was a secret, from
me. Well, I shouldn’t be too concerned. In time, she would shatter and confess.

  
Still, I was curious as to why she continued falling into these quiet spells.

  
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I said, trying to read her body language.

  
She looked at me in that seductive way that aroused every part of me. I
dismissed my inquisition and heaved her over the middle console, hungrily
devouring her lips.

  
The kiss didn’t stop there. I moved down to her neck and ran my lips against
her almond fragrant skin. I wanted her so bad, even more after hearing her
release a light moan.

  
Moya tugged at my jacket, getting her warm hands underneath my shirt to feel my
skin. I felt relieved I’d been working out; the firmness of my abs must have
thrilled her. She started to run her fingers up, caressing me. But then she
touched the scar on my chest, a souvenir of a frightening time, and just like
that the moment was over.

  
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “It’s not that…I’m okay with seeing and touching
your scar. It’s…” she lowered her head and began to trace the lines in the palm
of her hand.

  
“It’s because we’re in my car; not exactly a romantic place for what we want to
do,” I smirked.

  
Her head spun. She had an innocent look in her eyes. Maybe I misinterpreted her
emotions? “You didn’t…want to?” I sank back in the seat and rubbed my forehead.
“Sorry, I thought—”

  
“I did…I mean, I do want to.”

  
I looked over at her again. She went on, “But I still feel like everything
between us is taking off too fast. We need to cool down a bit,” she smiled
nervously, I knew what she meant.

  
“Yeah, our heat level has been rising.”

  
“Mmm-hmm.”

  
I watched as she fixed her coat, composing herself.

  
“Let me know when you’re ready.” I reached over and twisted a strand of her
hair around my finger. When she slanted her head and stared at me, I saw so
much love within her eyes my heart raced.

  
“We’ll go as slow as you want,” I added, before pulling my hand away to start
the car. Moya watched me from the corner of her eye as I backed away from the
docks.

  
“Let’s hang out tomorrow before you drive back to campus, okay?”

  
Nodding, she replied, “Okay. Oh, you want to go to Berlin Heights Christmas Eve
festival? It’ll be fun.”

  
“Yeah.
I’ll go anywhere with you.”

  
“Cool.”

  
When I drove her home, and walked her to the front door, Moya seemed unwilling
to let go of my hand. Eventually, she did. I kissed her goodnight, and watched
as she entered her house. All the time thinking, why was it so hard for her to
say the words she’d already said to me? And how long could I go on not saying
them again either?

***

  
Dad was sitting in the living room with the lights off, an opened bottle of
whiskey in one hand as he stared into space.

  
“Is that you, Ashton?” he asked as I entered the room, hidden by darkness.

  
I turned the lights on, answering, “No. It’s Branden. Why are you sitting in
the dark, drinking?  I didn’t even know you liked whisky.”

  
I sat down in the chair next to his. “Is everything okay, Dad?”

  
He exhaled deeply before answering, “Yes.  I’m all right.” Placing the
bottle on top of the glass coffee table, Dad rubbed his eyes vigorously. I
glanced down at the whiskey bottle, it was almost finished.

  
“Sorry about our behavior earlier,” he rasped. “Your girlfriend was probably
uncomfortable.”

  
“Yeah, what was that about? I thought you and Mom were cool.”

  
“Ha. Did you see how she tried to make me look bad? Branden, I’ll tell you
this,” He stood and walked over to the fireplace, slouching with his hands
inside his pants pockets. “Your mother and I will never be cool. Too much has
happened between us that can’t be fixed.”

  
Then he turned to face me. “And did you know your brother’s going to Spain to
live?”

  
Damn. So that’s what started the bad vibe around here. “Yeah, he told me.”

  
“Well, of course he’d tell you this ridiculous idea first. It’s because you
always support him.”

  
“What?” I jumped up from the chair. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s what he wants.
And so what if I support him? At least someone in this family does.”

  
Dad pointed at me, speaking in a serious tone, “He made that decision on an
impulse just to get away from us.”

  
“Yeah, can you blame him? I want to get away too.”

  
“Oh, don’t you start now.” He waved me off as if I was starting to annoy him.
Walking back to the table to retrieve the whiskey, he chugged the remainder
straight from the bottle.

  
I should stop him; take the bottle out of his hand. Clearly he was using
alcohol to cure his troubles, but for some reason…I didn’t care.

  
“Well, isn’t this a good example you’re setting for your son.” I turned and saw
a miserable figure huffing in the arched doorway.
Mom.
Her eyes darkened with hatred. Icy air ricocheted off her and filled the room.

  
“What a good father you are,” she continued mocking him.

  
“Oh just go to bed, woman,” Dad slurred.

  
Glancing back at him, I noticed his eyes were droopy and he could barely keep
steady on his feet anymore. I started to feel frustrated. What the hell kind of
home was this?

  
“Maybe you should go to bed,” I said in an angry tone, yanking the empty bottle
out of his hand. I got sick of him trying to drain every last drop. Holding the
bottle up to his face, I snapped, “There’s nothing left.”

  
He glared at me, but didn’t say anything, only walked past me towards the
doorway. Dad wobbled with every step. When he reached Mom, she scoffed,
then
marched off up the stairs. He laughed, and headed down
the hallway towards his office instead.

  
I stayed behind in the living room, plopping down on the sofa with my head
leaned back on the soft cushion, exhausted.
Again, what the
hell kind of a home was this?
  How I wished I could curl up with
Moya in my arms right now.

  
Just then, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and sent her a text:

  
I’m home now. Goodnight,
babe. Sweet dreams.

  
Shortly after, she sent me a reply:

  
Goodnight, Bran. I love
you.

  
My heart melted. I sat out on the sofa and read the text over. She had no idea
how those three words made all my troubles disappear.

  
Grinning like an idiot, I quickly typed my reply and hit send. I wondered if
she was there in bed, smiling as she read my text. Perhaps like a lullaby, it
rocked her into peaceful sleep.